Rudyard Kipling’s poems are known for their strong rhythm, clear storytelling, and memorable moral messages. He often wrote in simple, direct language, which made his poetry popular with both adults and young readers. Kipling’s work reflects themes of duty, discipline, courage, and the values of the British Empire, as well as a deep fascination with India, where he was born.
One of his most famous poems, “If—”, offers advice on self-control, perseverance, and integrity, and remains one of the most quoted poems in English literature. Poems like “Gunga Din” and “The Ballad of East and West” show his talent for narrative verse, blending action, character, and moral insight. Kipling also used strong musical rhythms in poems such as “Mandalay”, which helped many of his works become popular recitations.
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| Rudyard kipling |
- Although some of Kipling’s imperial views are controversial today, his poetic craftsmanship is widely admired. His ability to combine storytelling, rhythm, and moral reflection gives his poems lasting appeal. Kipling’s influence on English poetry is significant, and in 1907 he became the first English-language writer to win the Nobel Prize in Literature.
If—
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run—
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
'Tin Fish'
(Sea Warfare)
The ships destroy us above
And ensnare us beneath.
We arise, we lie down, and we move
In the belly of Death.
The ships have a thousand eyes
To mark where we come . . .
But the mirth of a seaport dies
When our blow gets home.
A Bank Fraud
He drank strong waters and his speech was coarse;
He purchased raiment and forbore to pay';
He stuck a trusting junior with a horse,
And won gymkhanas in a doubtful way.
Then 'twixt a vice and folly, turned aside
To do good deeds and straight to cloak them, lied.
A Song in Storm
Be well assured that on our side
The abiding oceans fight,
Though headlong wind and heaping tide
Make us their sport to-night.
By force of weather, not of war,
In jeopardy we steer.
Then welcome Fate's discourtesy
Whereby it shall appear
How in all time of our distress,
And our deliverance too,
The game is more than the player of the game,
And the ship is more than the crew!
Out of the mist into the murk
The glimmering combers roll.
Almost these mindless waters work
As though they had a soul —
Almost as though they leagued to whelm
Our flag beneath their green:
Then welcome Fate's discourtesy
Whereby it shall be seen, etc.
Be well assured, though wave and wind
Have mightier blows in store,
That we who keep the watch assigned
Must stand to it the more;
And as our streaming bows rebuke
Each billow's baulked career,
Sing, welcome Fate's discourtesy
Whereby it is made clear, etc.
No matter though our decks be swept
And mast and timber crack —
We can make good all loss except
The loss of turning back.
So, 'twixt these Devils and our deep
Let courteous trumpets sound,
To welcome Fate's discourtesy
Whereby it will be found, etc.
Be well assured, though in our power
Is nothing left to give
But chance and place to meet the hour,
And leave to strive to live.
Till these dissolve our Order holds,
Our Service binds us here.
Then welcome Fate's discourtesy
Whereby it is made clear
How in all time of our distress,
As in our triumph too,
The game is more than the player of the game
And the ship is more than the crew!
Azrael's Count
Lo! The Wild Cow of the Desert, her yeanling estrayed from her —
Lost in the wind-plaited sand-dunes — athirst in the maze of them.
Hot-foot she follows those foot-prints — the thrice-tangled ways of them.
Her soul is shut save to one thing — the love-quest consuming her
Fearless she lows past the camp, our fires affright her not.
Ranges she close to the tethered ones — the mares by the lances held.
Noses she softly apart the veil in the women's tent.
Next — withdrawn under moonlight, a shadow afar off —
Fades. Ere men cry, "Hold her fast! darkness recovers her.
She the all-crazed and forlorn, when the dogs threaten her,
Only a side-tossed horn, as though a fly troubled her,
Shows she hath heard, till a lance in the heart of her quivereth.
— Lo, from that carcass aheap — where speeds the soul of it?
Where is the tryst it must keep? Who is her pandar? Death!
Men I dismiss to the Mercy greet me not willingly;
Crying, "When seekest Thou me first? Are not my kin unslain?
Shrinking aside from the Sword-edge, blinking the glare of it,
Sinking the chin in the neck-bone. How shall that profit them?
Yet, among men a ten thousand, few meet me otherwise.
Yet, among women a thousand, one comes to me mistress-wise.
Arms open, breasts open, mouth open — hot is her need on her.
Crying, "Ho, Servant, acquit me, the bound by Love's promises!
Haste Thou! He Waits! I would go! Handle me lustily!"
Lo! her eyes stare past my wings, as things unbeheld by her.
Lo! her lips summoning part. I am not whom she calls!
Lo! My sword sinks and returns. At no time she heedeth it,
More than the dust of a journey, her garments brushed clear of it.
Lo! Ere the blood-gush has ceased, forward her soul rushes.
She is away to her tryst. Who is her pandar? Death!
A Carol
Our Lord Who did the Ox command
To kneel to Judah's King,
He binds His frost upon the land
To ripen it for Spring —
To ripen it for Spring, good sirs,
According to His Word.
Which well must be as ye can see —
And who shall judge the Lord?
When we poor fenmen skate the ice
Or shiver on the wold,
We hear the cry of a single tree
That breaks her heart in the cold —
That breaks her heart in the cold, good sirs,
And rendeth by the board.
Which well must be as ye can see —
And who shall judge the Lord?
Her wood is crazed and little worth
Excepting as to burn,
That we may warm and make our mirth
Until the Spring return —
Until the Spring return, good sirs,
When Christians walk abroad;
When well must be as ye can see —
And who shall judge the Lord?
God bless the master of this house,
And all who sleep therein!
And guard the fens from pirate folk,
And keep us all from sin,
To walk in honesty, good sirs,
Of thought and deed ad word!
Which shall befriend our latter end….
And who shall judge the Lord?
A Pageant of Elizabeth
Like Princes crowned they bore them—
Like Demi-Gods they wrought,
When the New World lay before them
In headlong fact and thought.
Fate and their foemen proved them
Above all meed of praise,
And Gloriana loved them,
And Shakespeare wrote them plays!
Now Valour, Youth, and Life's delight break forth
In flames of wondrous deed, and thought sublime—-
Lightly to mould new worlds or lightly loose
Words that shall shake and shape all after-time!
Giants with giants, wits with wits engage,
And England-England-England takes the breath
Of morning, body and soul, till the great Age
Fulfills in one great chord:—Elizabeth!
A Rector's Memory
The, Gods that are wiser than Learning
But kinder than Life have made sure
No mortal may boast in the morning
That even will find him secure.
With naught for fresh faith or new trial,
With little unsoiled or unsold,
Can the shadow go back on the dial,
Or a new world be given for the old?
But he knows not that time shall awaken,
As he knows not what tide shall lay bare,
The heart of a man to be taken —
Taken and changed unaware.
He shall see as he tenders his vows
The far, guarded City arise —
The power of the North 'twixt Her brows —
The steel of the North in Her eyes;
The sheer hosts of Heaven above —
The grey warlock Ocean beside;
And shall feel the full centuries move
To Her purpose and pride.
Though a stranger shall he understand,
As though it were old in his blood,
The lives that caught fire 'neath Her hand —
The fires that were tamed to Her mood.
And the roar of the wind shall refashion,
And the wind-driven torches recall,
The passing of Time and the passion
Of Youth over all!
And, by virtue of magic unspoken
(What need She should utter Her power?)
The frost at his heart shall be broken
And his spirit be changed in that hour —
Changed and renewed in that hour!
